


Warning: Error

by ifdragonscouldtalk



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor is a Good Boy, Connor whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Whump, this sounds really dark but i promise it's fluffy too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/pseuds/ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: Logically, it shouldn’t hurt. He didn’t have actual nerves, and even his sensors didn’t really replicate them. But it did. Errors popping up in his vision, his systems trying to adjust to the errors, to fix them, his processors trying to keep up in their damaged state, thirium slowly pumping out of his body and decreasing the effectiveness of his biocomponents. It hurt, or as close as an android could feel. Terror wracked him, and he screamed, loud and broken and piercing, artifacted and clipping.Shameless Connor whump with some fluffy comfort at the end. He's figuring this whole human thing out.





	Warning: Error

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DigDipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigDipper/gifts).



“Let’s not waste any time, Lieutenant,” Connor said as Hank slammed the door to his car closed, turning and walking towards the crime scene and leaving the Lieutenant muttering after him. Perhaps he was a bit eager about this case, a bit more vindictive than his usual mild manner. But violent and ritualistic killings of androids, the first truly calculated and widespread crime against them since they had won their rights, were getting to him. He wanted to bring the sick human who was doing this to justice. To show everyone that it wouldn’t be tolerated any more than crimes against other humans, anymore.

He also wanted Hank to stop looking at him with worry when he walked into a new crime scene and his LED flashed momentarily red, a testament to his true emotions. It seemed the entire department knew how he felt about this case, despite his trying to be professional and hide his involvement.

“It’s okay to care, Connor,” Hank told him quietly one day. “As long as it doesn’t affect how you do your job.” Connor could do that. He could be professional at work, and be angry later, an unpleasant feeling that set heavy against his vox modulator.

His LED was at a steady yellow, analyzing all he could as he walked briskly towards the house. If they moved quickly, they might be able to follow the suspect’s trail. A neighbor had heard noises coming from the house, and when the nearest squad car had come to investigate they had entered just as the victim was beyond saving. They had lost the suspect -- there was only so much they could do, after all -- but Connor was determined to find him again.

Hank jogged up next to him, glancing at him. “We have to move quickly, Hank,” Connor reiterated, crossing the threshold into the small house without hesitation.

His LED flickered red. The warm and homey interior of the house was a jarring juxtaposition to the gruesome murder laid out on the living room floor. Blinds which were closed during the murder were now open, letting light stream in so pictures could be taken and evidence could be gathered.

Connor had seen detectives affected by crime scenes before. It wasn’t something someone got used to, he had learned -- not if you were a good person. They just learned to block it. To put it in a separate file, and be affected at a later moment. He hadn’t experienced that before he was a deviant. Even his first murder case back as a free deviant, when his processors suddenly gave out and sent his knees out from under him, didn’t have the same effect as this one.

Anger burned through him, his thirium pump speeding up and running hot. Sadness felt like a vice around his throat, preventing him from speaking. Terror made his hands shake. None of those things should be possible, and yet he felt them happen. He had seen the same things in other deviants. Their emotions affecting their programming, their processes.

It always started with a cut to the abdomen. The first cut. He snuck up on them, exposed their biocomponents, rendered them damaged and scared. Restrained them. Helpless, just as they had been before -- but aware of it now.

“At least they can’t feel anything,” he had heard an officer mutter at a previous scene. His hands clenched at the thought. How incorrect humans could be. Pain was nothing more than a warning, a call to action. Androids had plenty of both. They may not be able to physically feel their skin being touched, but they could feel when something was dangerously wrong inside of them, a malfunction. Or a blade. The fear was real.

So was the desire to live.

It always ended with the thirium pump. Expertly removed, like a heart being dissected, so the sick bastard could watch the thirium pool in their chassis until everything was thick with it and the components shut down. Thirium flowing away like the tide and never returning, a process so damaging there was no way of reviving the victim.

Connor tore his eyes away from the latest victim, her eyes glassy and scared and unseeing, looking around quickly for evidence. Hank put a hand on his shoulder and he glanced over before nodding slightly in thanks, his LED fading to yellow in the silent show of support. The lieutenant paced forward to start his own investigation as Connor continued to glance around and pick up clues. They couldn’t be far behind the suspect. He needed to move quickly.

He stepped gingerly through the living room into the kitchen, where a struggle had clearly been made. Broken china and pushed over chairs littered the ground. He narrowed in on the slightly ajar back door, glancing at the officers standing toward the living room. “Lieutenant,” he called, “has anyone investigated out back?”

“Uhh, no!” Hank called back as he got an answer from the first responders on scene. _Is this how they entered?_ Connor thought, gingerly nudging the door open and examining the frame for signs of a forced entry. There were none, and previously the suspect had entered through windows on the ground floor forced open. There would be no need for him to change his methodology now, or to become so sloppy. He frowned.

He stepped out into the backyard, looking around. It was a decently sized yard, with close-cut grass and a small garden and a shed. It was surrounded by privacy fences, not too tall to vault over but tall enough to make it noticable if one did. He turned his attention to the shed, scanning it quickly and thoroughly.

It was little more than a lean-to, big enough to hold tools and a lawn-mower and not much else. Big enough for a person to be hiding in. Dangers and probabilities blinked through his thoughts. He slowly paced towards it, taking in clues. A footprint in the soft dirt. The odd way the door was slammed shut. The utter stillness from within. Taking average statistics into account, it was unlikely that the suspect was in the shed. It was more likely he vaulted over the fence and fled when he heard the sirens. But if he was too distracted by the victim’s death, it’s possible he could’ve shoved himself into the shed to wait out the police. After all, the crime was inside and the perimeter was secure. Who would check the shed?

He needed to go get Hank.

He turned abruptly to head inside and the next second had collapsed on the ground as something slammed into the back of his head with a metallic clang. He immediately rose to his knees only to be hit again -- a third time -- a fourth. Thirium trickled into his eye from a wound on his head, and he felt an odd prickling from his synthetic skin as an error -- pain -- flickered to life in his vision. He was limp for the moment, damaged processors struggling to catch up, and he watched the house grow further away from him; he was dragged by his attacker, behind the shed and out of sight. A kick to his abdomen sent his thirium pump stuttering and another error -- more pain -- appeared. He rolled over, not expecting the shovel to slam into his head once more, damaging his audio receptors and causing them to ring and fuzz, noises muffled around him. Thirium trailed down his neck. Errors -- pain -- it hurt.

His LED was a bright and steady red, terror and anger pulsing through him. He barely registered his arms being secured above his head with a piece of rope, dazed. He tugged on the bonds, blinking up at them as he raised his wrists to look at them and discovered it wasn’t rope at all, but tough copper wire. The same used to secure the victims -- androids were simply too strong to be held by ropes. Terror made his skin feel cold, as he looked up into the face of the murderer and realized he was about to be the next victim, the ravenous and predatory glint in the man’s eyes making him feel small and full of ice.

“ _HANK!_ ” he screamed before the murderer slammed the hilt of his knife, still blue with the previous victim’s thirium, into his vox modulator, damaging it and making it glitch. There was a manic gleam in the man’s eyes, and Connor rushed to scan him, to identify him.

_\\\ NAME: McCULLEN, Andrew_

Previous assault, history of drugs and violence, strong anti-android sentiment but a frequent patron of Eden Club before the uprising -- it all painted a picture that was too clear, too chilling, and Connor cleared his head and brought his bound hands up to slam them into Andrew’s head, hoping to daze him enough to stand and call for help. Andrew simply shifted out of the way, sitting heavy on Connor’s legs. If he had access to leverage, his hands, he would be able to kick Andrew away, but he didn’t have the raw strength necessary for it without hands, no matter how strong he was.

“C-C _a_ N’t reS _IS_ t a kiL _l_ , c _an_ y-Yo _u_ A _ND_ r _e_ w?” Connor asked, his voice coming out broken and artifacted from the damage. It hurt. He hoped it would throw Andrew off enough for him to gain the upper hand. “ _E_ v-veN W _It_ h po _l_ Ice cr _a-aw_ LIng the y _A_ rd.” Andrew just bared his teeth in something too sadistic to be a smile, and slowly dug the blade of his knife into Connor’s chest, right where a human’s solar plexus would be.

Connor screamed.

Logically, it shouldn’t hurt. He didn’t have actual nerves, and even his sensors didn’t really replicate them. But it did. Errors popping up in his vision, his systems trying to adjust to the errors, to fix them, his processors trying to keep up in their damaged state, thirium slowly pumping out of his body and decreasing the effectiveness of his biocomponents. It hurt, or as close as an android could feel. Terror wracked him, and he screamed, loud and broken and piercing, artifacted and clipping.

He reached out, searching for help through the air, his red LED spinning wildly. He knew all Markus and the others could feel was the jolt of his pain -- he couldn’t even think of anything to say to them as Andrew plunged the blade into his shoulder in anger, and Connor bucked, screaming again.

“You shouldn’t be able to scream!” Andrew snarled. _Advanced model_ , Connor thought. He was as indestructible as they could make him, vox modulator included. He had a huge hand in the field, after all, especially in apprehending suspects. _The damage to the other androids throats_ , he thought. Andrew must have damaged them enough to keep them from screaming for help, but _he_ could hear them. Crying and begging and bargaining, the sick fuck.

“Freeze, asshole.” Connor was so glad to hear Hank, even muffled, that he almost began to cry. There were three other officers with him, all with their sidearms aimed at Andrew. The madman hissed, yanking the knife out of Connor’s shoulder, who let out a cry and squirmed, and holding it high, as if to plunge it back in. Chill fear ran through him. “Drop it, or one of the four of us will shoot,” Hank growled. “And it might not be me.” Andrew stalled before dropping the knife right onto Connor’s chest, holding up his hands.

“He’s the one who attacked me! I was defending myself!” he insisted, and at that Connor broke, tears streaming down his face.

“Yeah, sure,” Hank said, cuffing him roughly and shoving him at one of the other officers. “And I’m Queen Elizabeth the Second.” He took in Connor’s red LED, the wounds and blue blood, and knelt next to them. “Hey kid, medic’s on the way. Can you hang on for me?”

“I _t_ hU _r_ ts,” Connor answered Hank’s muffled question. Hank winced at the artifacting of his voice, how painful it sounded. He began to unwind the wire from around his wrists, and Connor brought his hands back to his sides gratefully.

“You’ll be alright Connor. We’ll get you all fixed up. How’s your diagnostics? No wait, don’t answer that. Your voice is scaring me.” Connor’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile before he grimaced, looking away from the detective gingerly picking up the knife, the murder weapon, from where it rested on top of his chest. He wiped the tears off his face with a shaking hand, ashamed of them, and Hank looked at him knowingly.

‘ _Connor? Connor!_ ’ Markus and North were yelling at him, and his LED flickered -- red, yellow, red.

‘ _I’m alright now_ ,’ he told them, although he didn’t really feel alright.

‘ _You’re not,_ ’ Josh scolded. ‘ _Don’t pretend._ ’

‘ _What happened?_ ’ Markus said, worry coming through clear on his voice. ‘ _You’re in pain._ ’

‘ _The killer attacked me._ ’

‘ _You put up a good fight?_ ’ North asked after a pause, and Connor’s lips twitched again.

‘ _He surprised me. I didn’t fight as well as I could have, if I were on my guard._ ’

‘ _How bad are you hurt?_ ’ Markus asked, reluctantly amused.

‘ _I... Not badly, I don’t think. Everything is easily fixed or replaced, and it’s nothing vital. It just... hurts._ ’

‘ _Understandable_ ,’ Josh said sympathetically.

“Who’re you talking to?” Hank asked. “Wait, don’t answer that either. Tell them I said hi.” Connor smiled weakly, the pain seeming more manageable with everyone supporting him.

‘ _Hank says hi_.’

‘ _Oh good, you have help,_ ’ Simon said weakly. Connor sent a message of gratitude to the four as the medic arrived. Her LED turned from blue to red in seconds before settling back to yellow, and she smiled at him.

“Hello Connor,” she said pleasantly. “My name is Hannah. I understand you’ve been damaged, and that your vox modulator is acting up. I’ll get you all fixed up.” He nodded, and with her and Hank’s help sat up, leaning against the side of the shed. He clenched his hands into fists, fighting down the wave of new errors -- new pain -- that came up with moving. They settled and he looked at Hannah again as she pulled out biocomponents from the bag she was carrying, along with a portable welding torch. “You will need to go to an actual repair center to get your chassis correctly fixed,” she explained as he eyed the tool. “But I can close up the holes with this right now. Your synthetic skin will cover the scars, but the structural integrity of your body might be compromised.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Hank promised for him, and she smiled at him.

“Of course. Let him rest a bit first.”

“I’m going to replace your damaged components first,” she said before reaching for him. Connor held still, feeling calmed by her easy smile, and his LED faded from red to yellow. “It might be slightly uncomfortable as the switch and sync is made.”

“Ok _aY_ ,” he said, not wanting to move as she reached for his damaged audio processor. She paused, wincing.

“Wow, he did a number on that vox modulator!” she said cheerfully before popping his audio processor out. The world was shockingly, eerily silent for 3 seconds before she slid in a new compatible model and the sync with his processors was completed, and sound came back full force. Someone hadn’t turned their siren off in the front. Hank was cussing under his breath as he held Connor’s hand tightly. He blinked, his LED flickering red momentarily, and Hannah watched him. “Alright?” she asked, and he nodded, giving her a smile.

“I cAn _he_ ar O _N_ ce ag _ai_ N,” he confirmed. “Th _e_ ERr _o_ r iS _gO_ ne.” She beamed at him, knowing what he meant by it, and took a cloth to wipe the blue blood off his ear and neck.

“I’m afraid I can’t do much for the slight damage to your data processors,” she said as she dabbed at his other head wound. “I can seal off the wound, but the damage will be resolved in a few days by your internal diagnostic system. I can’t exactly replace them.” Connor nodded his understanding as she started up the welder and closed up the wound. There was a faint warning of heat. He ignored it.

“Please retract your skin?” Hannah requested, and Connor tapped his LED, acquiescing.

“Jesus Christ!” Hank said, but didn’t look away, holding Connor’s hand tighter. Connor held still as Hannah gently removed his damaged vox modulator and replaced it, the sync taking longer than it had for the audio processor as his voice was downloaded onto the component.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully once the component was ready, and she beamed again.

“Of course.”

She efficiently sealed up his other wounds before handing Hank a bag of blue blood. “Please ensure he digests that,” she said, and Hank grimaced but nodded, taking a clean cloth from her and starting to wipe off the blue blood still all over Connor’s body after he put his skin back on. He frowned at the fussing and took the cloth from Hank.

“I am capable of cleaning myself, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well I’m the one that’s gotta drive your dirty ass home,” Hank said gruffly, but retreated, watching carefully as Connor methodically cleaned himself. “How’d he get the drop on you anyway?”

“He was hiding in the shed,” Connor replied, his LED back to a healthy blue. “I was going to get you and he attacked me with a shovel.”

“Son of a bitch,” Hank muttered as Connor handed the cloth back to Hannah. She smiled.

“Feel better, Connor,” she said as she stood to take her leave of the two.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Connor said sincerely, standing himself. He took a few careful steps before moving towards the car, hearing Hank mumbling as he followed him. He looked around at the action as they rounded the corner of the building, focusing in on someone shouting.

“Well where the fuck are they?” Gavin Reed was hollering before he looked up and spotted Connor and Hank, scowling and crossing his arms. Connor smiled and sped up as Gavin rolled his eyes.

“Hello Detective Reed! I thought you were on a different case.”

“I was! Then your stupid asses went and got attacked. The guys at the station were worried.” Connor smiled wider, his LED flickering a happy blue while Hank rolled his eyes in return.

“It is okay to say you were worried,” he said as Gavin looked him up and down, seeming to finally take in his appearance.

“Jesus Connor, look at you!” Connor did, glancing down at himself. His shirt was torn and stained with thirium, and his skin still held streaks of the blue blood. He blinked, shrugging his jacket tighter around himself and feeling slightly uncomfortable. Gavin looked like he had swallowed something sour as he asked “You alright?” Connor broke into a smile again.

“Yes, I’m fine now. I was very scared though. It... It hurt.” Gavin glanced up, clapping a hand on his shoulder for a moment before scowling again.

“Don’t get the shit beat out of you too often. You’re useful. Makes my job easier.” Hank rolled his eyes again and shoved Gavin away, flipping him off. Gavin returned the gesture in kind as Hank steered Connor towards the car with his other hand.

“Tell Fowler we’re taking the rest of the day off!” he called back to the detective.

“Just text him you bitch!” Gavin called back as Connor chuckled. Hank held up his other hand to flip Gavin off with as well as they climbed in the car. Gavin mimed a tear running down his face using his middle finger before stalking away. Connor’s LED was back to a steady blue as he buckled his seatbelt, waiting for Hank to start the car and looking over when he didn’t to see the lieutenant watching him.

“Hank?” Hank was silent for a moment, and Connor opened his mouth to apologize for what happened when the older man interrupted him.

“It’s alright to cry. It’s alright to be scared or overwhelmed. You’re still new. Hell, half of these officers would be bawling like a baby if they went through what you just did, and you’re here five minutes later fine.” Connor’s LED swirled yellow as he considered the words, thinking.

“Thank you,” he said finally. “Sometimes I still forget... forget it’s okay to feel. So many humans still consider us lesser, or unemotive. I know what the precinct thinks of me...”

“The precinct can shove their thoughts up their asses,” Hank said vehemently as he turned away and started the car. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, Connor, but everyone loves you. You’re still new,” he repeated, and Connor frowned. “You’re still learning. It’s okay to be expressive with your feelings, and if someone tries to shame you for that I’ll shove my gun up their ass.”

“That’s very violent, Hank.” Connor smiled. “But thank you.” They fell into a comfortable silence.

“You said it hurt?” Hank said hesitantly after a moment. “I thought only the kids had sensitivity settings or whatever.”

“Correct,” Connor answered. “Child models do have sensors that allow them to detect heat and cold in order to more accurately mimic a human child. I can only assume android pain is... different than human pain.”

“Different?” Hank asked gruffly, glancing over. Connor nodded, tilting his head as he considered.

“It’s difficult to explain. If you equate human pain to a warning of error or injury, it makes it easier to understand how an android could feel pain as well.” Hank didn’t look like he really understood but he nodded anyway.

“You tell me if you’re ever in pain, kid,” he mumbled, and Connor smiled at him.

“I will.”

It was quiet until they got to the house. Sumo did his level best to knock Connor to the floor as they walked in, but Connor stayed upright, rubbing his ears and laughing softly. “Hello Sumo.” Hank dumped his keys on the table next to the door and flopped onto the couch with a huge sigh. Connor watched him for a moment before closing the door and following.

“Oh no! You’re still covered in blue blood! You need a shower.” Connor tilted his head, smirking slightly.

“It will evaporate soon. You won’t be able to see it.”

“I don’t care. Move your ass! Go on!”

“This is unnecessary.”

“You always say that when I try and get you to shower. _I_ think it’s necessary, and this is _my_ house, kiddo. When you move out, you can be as filthy as you want!” Connor opened his mouth to retort before the doorbell rang, causing both of them to look up.

“I’ll get it,” the android said cheerfully.

“You look like I pulled you out of the trash!”

“So do your shirts.” Hank gasped.

“Connor. Connor I am hurt. I cannot believe how low you have stooped.” Connor ignored him and opened the door, his LED flashing yellow before settling back to blue as a grin spread across his face, watching North shove Josh clear off the porch while Simon rolled his eyes and Markus did his level best to ignore them all.

“Connor,” Markus said with a soft smile. “Good to see you looking well.”

“Looking well?” North snorted. “He looks like hell. God, you’re covered in blood!”

“Blue blood,” Connor corrected on habit, stepping back to let them through the doorway. “What are you all doing here?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be running Jericho?” Hank grunted when he saw them, setting his feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh yeah,” Josh said sarcastically, something Connor hadn’t mastered yet, “the entire revolution is going to implode if the four of us aren’t there. Congress is going to approve the removal of the amendments made if we’re gone even an hour.” Connor frowned, his LED flickering red.

“That isn’t very funny, Josh,” he said as he sat on the floor next to Hank, petting Sumo when the dog came over for scratches. North shrugged.

“He’s right though. The four of us don’t need to be there all the time, even if we are the face of the revolution.”

“Just most of the time,” Simon piped up, and North smirked.

“Besides, you’re also a face of the revolution and you’re hardly ever there.”

“I’m not a face of the revolution,” Connor protested, his LED flashing yellow. “What are you talking about?”

“Uhm, marching through the city with hundreds of androids woken up at Cyberlife Tower?” Connor frowned at Josh. “You did see the press taking pictures of you, didn’t you?”

“He made quite a statement,” Markus said proudly, smiling at him. Connor frowned back.

“I hardly did anything. You four started it all.”

“You’re the one who ended it.”

“Blah blah blah, Connor’s great,” Hank interrupted, and Connor looked up at his companion with another frown. “Can y’all convince him to take a bath?” He let out a long suffering sigh, looking at the ceiling like he’d seen humans do many times before, as if they were searching for patience. The other androids started laughing.

“We wanted to make sure you were okay,” Simon said once the laughter died down, and Connor felt a warmth flood through him as Markus laid a hand on his shoulder and North began to toy with his hair, as if to assure themselves he was still there.

“I’m alright now.”


End file.
